Let Me Go
by Apollo's Chariot
Summary: ORLANDO BLOOM! Haha, got your attention. The story of Mine Eyes Have Seen, from the point of view of Dauphin Thompson. ::Sob:: Anyway, previously called
1. Jumping On The Band Wagon

A/N: Hey hey hey, everyone! I hope you like my fic.: ). To all those Ann Rinaldi fans out there (I am one) who have read "Mine Eyes Have Seen," IT'S JUST SUCH A GOOD BOOK, ISN'T IT! He really didn't deserve to die AT ALL! None of them did, really. Anyway, if you haven't read "Mine Eyes Have Seen" and were really confused by what I just said, JUST READ THE FIC!!! THANK YOU! Please read and review. PLEASE! Yup.I'm strange.Oh yeah, and the song is The Golden Vanity. It's some sea shanty from England, I'm not sure who wrote it. We had to sing it in sixth grade (last year), hehehe.drove my friends crazy.  
  
Surrender  
  
Chapter One: Jumping On the Band Wagon  
  
These shortcakes aren't nearly as good as Annie makes them. Not that I'd ever tell my ma that, of course. She's already half heart-broken that Will and I are going to Maryland, but I'd rather go and die than lay here in North Elba while my brothers go off on their little "outing," as Mum calls it. It's all a crying shame, really. I stand, kiss the top of Mum's head and pick up my fiddle. It's somewhat of a tradition for me to eat real fast and then play the violin until nearly midnight. "What shall we have, folks?" They all laugh at my feeble attempt at a Kansas accent. Ethan calls out, "That one about the ship, and the cabin boy who gets hypothermia!" He's the family scientist, and knows all these fancy terms for normal things like freezing to death. I shrug, lift the instrument to my shoulder, and begin. "Oh there was a lofty ship, sailing on the sea."  
It's dead depressing; my family likes this song so much that they sing it with me. ".And the name of that shipping was the Golden Vanity,  
and she feared she would be taken by a Spanish enemy."  
God, Will's a terrible singer. He sounds like a toad that's stuck under a sheet of rusted iron.  
".As she sailed upon the low-land, low-land low,  
she sailed upon the low-land sea."  
Mum and Cabot are dancing, it's sure to become one hell of a night if they keep it up.  
"Then up steps the cabin boy, just the age of twelve and three,  
And he says to the skipper, 'What will you give to me,  
If I swim alongside of that Spanish enemy.  
And I sink her in the low-land, low-land low,  
I sink her in the low-land sea."  
I never liked this part too much; I keep on thinking that the fifteen- year-old boy is me and the skipper is batty old John Brown. Whenever I'm in a rather morbid mood I know that there's hardly any chance that we'll survive this business at the Ferry. Not a good tactical ploy, I must admit.Quit daydreaming, Dauphin Thompson, focus on the song. " 'Oh I will give you silver, I will give you gold,  
And the hand of my daughter, if you will be so bold,  
As to swim alongside of that Spanish enemy.  
And to sink her in the low-land, low-land low,  
To sink her in the low-land sea."  
My violin is singing, my ma is whirling, and I'm just about ready to fall asleep for the better part of the month.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ (The next morning, at around dawn)  
  
Will grins happily at no one in particular; he's like that sometimes. A bit maniacal, a bit loony, and most of the rest recklessly brave. We're riding in the back of old Dr. Roberts hay wagon; seeing as it's May there's no hay in it, but it's middling comfortable, all the same. I glance at Will; he's just sitting there dreamily, like he just stepped out of the clouds and doesn't know he's on Earth yet. It's about a ten-hour train ride from North Elba to the Kennedy Farm; there's a good chance he'll be conscious by then. Speaking of which, we're at the train station already. "Come on, Will, you've not got all of eternity to laze about fantasizing, get up!"  
He grumbles and grouches. "Dauphin, you just want to get to the farm early because Annie's already there; I know why, I'm your brother."  
I'm so scarlet that it looks like I've spent five years working in the wheat fields down at Belle and Watson's place. Why do I have to have so damned many brothers? You never seem to be able to escape from them.  
Will pokes me in the ribs, attempts and fails to deliver a nasty leer, and jumps out of the wagon with our trunk clutched tight in his hands. I regain my breath and follow; it's gonna be a hell of a summer if the other men are anything like my brother.  
  
The train's already here; luckily they only just started boarding. I feel like I could die, I'm so tired. Mum says it's an adolescent thing, but Ethan says it's just teenage denial. He should know better than Ma, but- damn, I'm rambling again. I seem to think too much, it's like the time when I-hell, I get it now. Will's poking me. "Come on, Dauphin, get on the train-." I'm not moving. "I'll put a Coney in your jacket again!" I'm still not moving.  
"I'll tell Annie you've been seeing that Molly Rennings!" Gods no. "Shut up, Will," boy am I leaping into that car. It's nothing special; just some nice ash benches with corduroy backings and drinking spigots at the front and back. Will's sniggering at me; he ought to act his age more often, maybe he'd have better luck with girls, then. "So Dauphin, I don't want you behaving in a-a disorderly fashion. "Huh, Will, you should talk." He's not grinning anymore. "Dauphin, I'm serious, this isn't just some schoolyard scuffle. It's not just a few bruises here, a couple slashes there. Old Mr. Brown's dead grim about this; we all are. But you, you're the youngest, and that's not always the easiest way to go when you're planning an armed assault on the largest federal arsenal--." My brother can be awfully dumb sometimes. "Shut it, you, we're on a public train here.' He rolls his eyes derisively. "But still, you have to conduct yourself in an hon-."  
I smile faintly. "I get it, Will, ok? Just.keep an eye out for yourself, not just me." I've never been so interested in the countryside before. This is a rather nice window, I have to admit. It's got some nice carvings around the edges, and the swirls are-I swear, I am the most annoying person in my life so far, except maybe that cat down the road a ways, she always makes me sneeze. This will be one long train ride, if I keep going with these aimless and incoherent psychological debates.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The gloaming sun is slowly westering across the molten sky, and-I am a complete failure. We're just pulling up to the Kennedy farm; we hitched a ride from one of those Negro depot workers. I can hear Mr. Brown saying the prayer before supper; he sounds like a flamin' foghorn with that voice of his. We can't rightly make out the words, but it sounds like a load of "mortification of the flesh" and "righteous deliverance of spirits." I always knew he was a loony, but not on this grand sort of scale. Will and I jump out of the wagon, and Oliver's wife, Martha, comes up to tow us inside. Maybe I'm being a bit unfair about the towing part; she's actually really nice.  
Martha smiles and opens the farmhouse door. "We're just settin' down to supper, you'll join us, of course?"  
I grin back. 'We're not insane, Martha, you know us better than that."  
"Just making sure, Dauphin."  
There look to be about ten people sitting there in the dining room, (A/N: Sorry if I got the figure wrong.) and nearly all of them look to be at least twenty-five years old. Save Annie, naturally, and that dog in the corner is definitely less than twenty-five. I sit next to Will for some reason (seeing as I've been sitting next to him all day), right across from Annie. She smiles a little at me; it's like a golden stream of honey just pours right into my soul when she does that. Mr. Brown's glaring at me like I'm the devil or something; I don't think he ever liked me. It may be that my "beautiful, thick golden hair that shimmers like ripened corn stalks" (my ma said that) reminds him of his daughter Amelia. I remember the day she died; it was horrible, really.  
  
~*~*~FLASHBACK~*~*~ (Third person POV)  
  
Annie giggles and tickles the little flaxen-haired baby on her tubby little stomach. "'Melia, 'Melia!" The baby gurgles in response and Annie laughs again. Dauphin looks down from the tree he's climbing. "Look, Annie! It's a cardinal, over there by the shed, it's a cardinal!" He points at the bright vermilion bird. The toddler shrieks in delight, and starts to chase it. Dauphin resumes his climbing, and soon is lost among the waving linden branches. Suddenly there is a piercing wail. Annie stops running and looks back at Amelia. The little baby has fallen into the tub of scalding water that stood by the washing line, and her fair skin is blistering, burning, Amelia is screaming-  
  
~*~*~END FLASHBACK~*~*~  
  
I seem to have finished my potatoes; funny how things work like that. Annie catches my eye, and we slip away from the table. Her pa is too deep in conversation with her brother Owen to notice we're gone, and no one else would mind, anyway. We run, hand in hand, around back to the flower garden.  
  
Annie smiles brightly. "It's so wonderful to see you, Dauphin, it's been so boring here without you." She kisses me, gently at first then more passionately, and I'm drowning in the fresh scent of her long brown hair, the way she tastes like wild clover and sweet rosehips. My hands are all over her-I could kiss my girl forever. "Dauphin--," she murmurs, but I cut her off by kissing her again, molding our bodies until we're like one person, delving as deep as we can into each others' spirits until I feel that if we parted, I would die.  
Annie finally seizes two fistfuls of my curls and yanks my head away from hers. "Dauphin, we really need to talk." "I like what we're doing better." (A/N: MY PRECIOUS! ::sob::)  
She tries to glower angrily at me, but ends up grinning like a baby with a stick of horehound candy. "Dauphin, be serious."  
"I don't like serious."  
"Please listen to me. I don't want you jumping on Pa's back whenever he's a bit.strange. He's always been like that, and always will. He needs you, he needs all of us, and for him to get us he thinks that he has to be all imposing, and the like. So.please just remain, well, neutral, I guess."  
I nod slowly. "All right, Annie, I think I can do that. And then when this is all over, we'll go home to North Elba, and forget about all this business."  
She nods, smiling widely, her face lit up like the harvest moon.  
But I've been pondering something else all day, besides my growing habit of thinking too much. I'm not quite sure I want to go through with this all, just yet. And yet I'm positive that I don't have a choice anymore. "Annie," I say slowly, "I think I'll make a good soldier. Don't you think?" I don't think, and I can tell that she doesn't either.  
Annie forces a grin, and looks away. "Yes, Dauphin, you'll make a right fine soldier." She hugs me tight and then turns and walks quickly back up to the cabin.  
  
The sun is long gone behind the horizon, and I stand silently in the fragrant garden, as the night grows deep.  
  
A/N: If you absolutely hate Dauphin's mental rambling I sympathize but disagree with you. I do not own any Ann Rinaldi characters. If I did, I would be sobbing right now ::sob:: never mind, I am anyway. But it's just so sad! Yup, I'm going senile. Please review, and please no flames unless you have a VERY good reason-no, annoying mental rambling is not a good reason. Bye. 


	2. Chapter Two: The Beginning

A/N: Hey everyone! I got back from camp and I'm proud to say that I *drumroll* took a shower. Yes, of all crazy things to do, I took a shower. I'm so proud of myself. Anyway, please read and review, but no begging me to change things that happen very close to the end of the book because then I would have to change history, too. Nobody actually asked me to-well, you know, but I'm just warning you. And thanks to my first reviewer, whose name, I regret to say, escapes my grasps. Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, because if I did I would not feel the urge to write senseless fanfiction about them. I am merely an eleven-year-old seventh-grader mourning HIM.  
  
Surrender  
  
Chapter Two: The Beginning (Yes, it's only the beginning.)  
  
Annie smiles indulgently at me, and kisses my cheek gently. "It's a wonderful house Dauphin, I'm so glad that you favored this one over Mister Whitten's rickety old thing." I grin toothily back at her. "Yes, I really think that the architecture is quite superb when compared to the others."  
"Dauphin, wake up! It's time to eat!" For some reason Annie's jabbing me in the chest with what appears to be a butter knife.  
"You'll miss breakfast if you lie in any later, and then we'll all be in for it."  
Oh, it's Will. "Okay, okay, I'll be right there," I groan, and open my eyes. I'm lying in bed in that tiny old shack across the road from the Kennedy Farm, and my brother's standing above me with a look that would weaken a heart of steel. "Out, you lazy lay-about, we haven't got all day, y'know." He seems to struggle inwardly for a moment, then starts laughing like a schoolboy who just stole a girl's bonnet. "You should see your face, Dauphin, really, you look as if you got caught snitching doughnuts from the big crock." He shakes his head and disappears down the stairwell.  
  
I dress in a clean white shirt and a pair of rough work pants, and dash across the path to the farm. It's just about eight in the morning and the sun is well above the horizon, but Annie says that her pa holds with relatively late repasts. I walk into the dining room, and nearly everyone is there, except for Owen, Cook, and Green. Mr. Brown probably let him have a bit of a lye-in. Huh, he might even let the Negro lounge around the cabin all day if he wanted. I sit down next to Martha; she always manages to get you the best parts of the meal.  
John Brown clears his throat firmly as Cook and Owen walk quietly into the room, their heads bent close as they murmur softly together. Evidently I was right about Green.  
"Good servants of light, we do ask the most Holy God to grant us the power and permission to give poor souls deliverance." Mr. Brown goes on in that vein for some time, until finally he sits down and lets us eat. The food isn't bad at all; Martha's a fair hand at cooking. It's fresh wheat bread with raspberry preserves and an interesting fruit salad comprised of apples, pears, strawberries, and plums, then topped with yogurt from the dairy down the lane. Mmm, it'd be really good with a mug of coffee, but unfortunately we only have water and milk. I really should be more grateful, but I'm a bit spoiled, I suppose. I load my fork with fruit and pop it into my mouth; a burst of flavor all at once, and then a lingering sweet trace.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It's awfully hot up here in the attic, but "The Captain," as we are supposed to call him, wants us out of the way. I suppose that translates to "sweltering to death," but I'm not really allowed to complain. We have to spend all day up here, playing cards or checkers, reading, talking, reviewing the battle strategies of Napoleon-For God's sake, why do we have to study Napoleon's tactics? I mean, it's 1859 and we're not even waging an entire war or anything! Anyway, we have precious little to do and I feel like I'm going to die if I can't get outside. It's like being in a cage that's locked on the inside, but you don't have the key. Damn, now I'm getting all philosophical. But the point is, we're like rats locked in a pen. And my fiddle's back on the shelf above my bunk, all the way across the road.  
Oliver and I are on our eleventh game of cribbage when Green finally decides to saunter up here. He's smirking like a smug little demon, and he's wearing a shirt that I recognize as the one Martha made for Oliver last Christmas. Green probably bullied her into giving it to him. He ambles on over to the card table and peers at my hand. "Get rid of the four and the ace, young'n," he whispers audibly, which is extremely annoying, as Oliver now knows that I have an ace and a four. Besides, aces are great for pegging. (A/N: We had to play cribbage ALL the time in sixth grade math. Go look it up.) I restrain myself from glaring at him, but grind my teeth as he glances at Oliver's hand and mutters something incomprehensible to him. It's not my crib, and my hand's a bit average, not bad, not good: An ace, an eight, a four, a two, another eight, and a six. Eventually I discard the two and the six, trusting to hope as I generally do in cribbage. I'm not very good at it; I'm pretty bad at cards in general.  
Green lounges against the table, propping himself with one hand as I completely fail to score hardly any points at all. He cocks a brow, shakes his head despairingly, and strolls off like he's got springs on the balls of his feet. Why does he have to be so presumptuous all the time? It's like he's an old male peacock that doesn't know he hasn't got any feathers to show off. Some folks just will never learn, like my old mum says far too often for my enjoyment.  
  
It's finally dinnertime and the Captain doesn't look happy. Maybe it's that neighbor woman Annie told me about, the one who sounds prophetic. We'll find out, I suppose, he looks about to start. "My young Turks, I have some news that may be of an unfortunate nature, but I fear that I must convey it to you." He scowls menacingly, and I shiver a bit. He's disconcerting. "This afternoon we received information that five of our recruits have backed out of The Plan, and are no longer willing to contribute their efforts. I am very surprised, particularly in one case, as the man in question seemed to be almost to be a warmonger, but it is as it must be. I cannot sway their minds. You may now eat."  
All right, now I am surprised. He didn't even say the prayer; can it really be that bad? I shake my head to clear it, and pick up my fork. Supper looks delicious, smells even better, and I would bet Nate Farnsworth that it tastes near heavenly. (A/N: Let's just say that Nate Farnsworth is the local lucky guy in North Elba.) Scalding beef stew with gobs of potatoes and carrots, and with scads of ground black pepper dotting the surface, steaming farls of nutbread fresh out of the oven, and a garden salad with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and drizzled all over with spiced vinegar. I could sit here forever just looking at it all.  
Annie lowers her eyes as I try to catch her eye. Something's not quite right here; I can't quite pinpoint it, but it's definitely there. I get this feeling that someone's watching me, and I whirl around. Owen grins at me. "It's time to leave, Dauphin, the sun's goin' down."  
I nod, and turn to the door, but pause in the jamb, and take one last glance at Annie, her long chestnut hair flowing. Her eyes are closed but they flick open and meet mine for a split-second that feels like an eternity. They communicate everything that words never could.  
Dauphin, she pleads, don't leave. Don't go with them, don't give in.  
We stare at each other, her gaze full of longing.  
Don't.let them overpower you, don't let them.take you.  
I shake my head the tiniest bit and walk, painfully slowly, out of the farmhouse. Even with my back turned I know she's watching me leave. The shadows grow long, the sky's awash in flaming hues, and Annie watches me from the porch.  
As I climb the wobbly stair up to my garret bedroom I wonder what's going wrong here. Why did Annie look at me like that? What made those five recruits back out of the raid? Why do I even care?  
  
A/N: Thanks for reading, all you wonderful people out there! Please review, please! I really need some moral support here, ya know. Auburn Middle School starts on Thursday, and I can't wait. Although it does means that life gets more complicated. If you have read Mine Eyes Have Seen please begin to break down and weep right now because today is when we have to mourn for HIM because we should always mourn for HIM. If you haven't read Mine Eyes Have Seen you should still start to cry because every decent person in the world should. And I put the fruit salad in because I lived on fruit salad at camp. Well, almost. And please, if you don't already, read my other three stories, because I love having folks REVIEW my work. Shameless advertising.  
Merry Christmas, to aaaaaaaaaall theeeeeeeeeee!  
~*Leah 


End file.
